I remember asking Rob why Gordie didn't make Ace give him back his Yankees cap at the end of the movie, since it seemed like the sort of thing that should happen if Gordie and his friends "won." (This made perfect sense to me when I was 12.)

Rob said that Ace didn't keep the cap, and threw it away as soon as he walked around the corner. It wasn't about the cap, Rob told me, as much as it was about Ace being cruel.

I learned a lot about filmmaking and storytelling in that conversation with Rob, and I still feel its influence on my creative life.

I had a disastrous audition, but ended up growing a level in acting as a result of it, leading directly to my role on Criminal Minds:

There is a lesson here about not giving up. There's a lesson here about learning from your mistakes and applying that knowledge, instead of wallowing in self-pity. I'm not pointing that out because I think anyone else needs to hear it; I'm pointing it out because I'm going to forget it sooner or later, and I want to remember it the next time I go searching through my writing for advice from myself.

One more thing: when I had the audition last week, I did my best, even though my best was crap. When I did my audition yesterday, I did my best, and it was much better than what "my best" was just a week ago. Someone once said to me that we should always do our best, and understand and accept that "our best" will vary from time to time. I'm glad I remembered that.

I lamented the closing of Star Trek: the Experience in Las Vegas. I didn't even get to go say goodbye during Creation's big honkin' Star Trek convention in summer, because they barred me from the show.

I nearly completed the endless setlist on Rock Band with Ryan. I say nearly, because…

…after already playing for 5 hours, (and not exactly conserving our energy) we started to play this rock epic, knowing it would be the greatest challenge we'd faced yet.

Our first time through, we failed at 84%. It was entirely my fault for holding my guitar too high and deploying our emergency overdrive when we didn't need it.

"Sorry about that," I said as we lost 360,000 fans. "I blame my guitar."

Ryan looked at me.

"Okay, I blame myself."

Ryan laughed and said it was no big deal. He was confident we'd get it on the next try, and when we started the song, I could see why. He was in the zone, nailing 97% of the first solo. I wanted to holler about how awesome he was, but I felt like it would have been the same as talking to my pitcher in the middle of a no-hitter, so I stayed quiet and did my best not to screw things up.

I screwed things up, and we failed the song at 96%. We lost another 360,000 fans, almost wiping out the million we'd picked up when we did the Southern Rock Marathon last week. Compared to the nearly 5 and a half hours we'd spent playing, that 18 minutes wasn't that long, but it sure felt demoralizing, especially because it was, again, entirely my fault we'd failed. See, there's this bass phrase that's repeated over and over and over, and if you're just a tiny bit off (like I was) you're screwed, and . . . well, you get the point.

And because that wasn't bad enough, I managed to shut down the Xbox, sending five hours of work to the Land of Wind and Ghosts. All was not lost, though:

What happened next was astonishing to me: Ryan didn't freak out. He didn't get upset. Instead, he told me, "Calm down, Wil. It's just a game. We can do it again."

Before I knew what was happening, my hand shot out from my body and grabbed his. I incoherently babbled something about how much I love his work. He tried to say something, but I just. kept. talking.

My brain screamed at me, "SHUT UP! YOU'RE MAKING A FOOL OF YOURSELF YOU ASSHOLE!"

My mouth, however, was out of my control. I continued to ramble, vomiting a turgid cascade of genuinely-excited praise and gratitude all over him.

A full minute later, I realized, to my abject horror, that my hand was still shaking his. I held it too hard in a sweaty, trembling hand. Darkness flashed at the edges of my vision, and I felt weak. I pulled my hand back, a little too quickly, mumbled an apology, and shut my mouth.

They said things to me, but I couldn't hear them over my own brain screaming at me, "GET OUT OF THERE YOU COCKASS. YOU HAD ONE CHANCE TO MEET RANDALL MUNROE AND YOU BLEW IT! I HATE YOU! YOU GO TO HELL NOW! YOU GO TO HELL AND YOU DIE!"

I was, in every way that mattered, and in that moment I would have pushed my mother in front of a train on its way into a lake of fire if it meant that this girl would remove from me this . . . condition.

If I'd been standing, I'm certain I would have fainted. "W-what?" I stammered.

She extended one hand and caressed my face. She repeated herself, even more seductively than the first time.

My voice cracked as I said "YES!" a little too loudly.

Her eyes flashed and she squeaked - squeaked! - a little. "This is going to be fun."

She stood up abruptly and hollered, "I have a virgin!"

"A VIRGIN!" Replied much of the audience.

Before I knew what was happening, she stood me up, had me repeat some oath that I've sinceforgotten, and spanked me. I remained fully clothed, but by the time I was done, I was soaked through after everyone in the theater sprayed me with their squirt guns and spray bottles. As quickly as it started, it was over, and she disappeared before I could get her number.

My deflowering was, like most people's, nothing like I'd hoped for or expected, but it was still magical. I loved every second of it.

I fought a bear while boxing a kangaroo and managed to break one of my ribs in the process:

[My doctor] put one hand on my back, another on my sternum, and pressed.

"Does this -"

I made a sound like a giraffe getting run over by a train while they're both hit by a meteor.

"Yeah, we're gonna go ahead and x-ray that."

I went down to the lab and had a series of films taken. I successfully resisted the compulsion to say "HULK SMASH!!" after each shot. When I took them back up to my doctor's office, he showed me where he could see a break, and where he thought my ribs were cleverly concealing at least one other break.

"So . . . do we have to put me down?" I said.

"No, but you're going to be unable to do much of anything for at least another week."

"Can I get a note to that effect to give my wife, and would you leave some space for me to write other . . . doctor's orders?"

I went to PAX, and got such a bad case of ConSARS, I could barely stay on my feet. When I look back on the show, I'm convinced that I really let down a lot of people who wanted to meet me based on 2007's tales of glamour and excess. I promise to make it up to everyone in 2009.

I wrote a few Ficlets in 2008, but I'm particularly happy about Hunter & Hunted. Of all the fucking retarded things AOL has ever done, killing off Ficlets and not even making it possible for someone or a team of someones to take over the whole community when they pull the plug next week has to be in the top five.

Several exceptionally geeky unknown facts about Wil Wheaton were revealed in 2008. Here's mine: 36. Every day, Wil Wheaton is afraid that he can't live up to his reputation.

I went to Sacramento for a tiny convention called From the Land Beyond. It was way more fun than I expected:

I had a panel on Saturday, which I thought was going to be shared with some other Star Trek alumni. Turns out I was wrong, and I'd be on the panel by myself. I had a little bit of a last-minute panic when I learned that I was going it alone, because I hadn't prepared anything, but I thought quickly, and decided to read my Datalore review from TV Squad, because it's in Sunken Treasure. I figured this would let me perform and entertain whoever showed up, while fulfilling the "Wil's going to be talking about Star Trek" portion of the program. Thing is, I haven't really looked at it since I wrote it several months ago, so I needed to prepare (being super prepared is very important to me) before I attempted to present it. I spent about 20 minutes reading it, remembering where the beats were, figuring out where it would be safe to drop some ad-libs in and where I should just stick to the material. It wasn't as funny as I remembered it, but Datalore wasn't as good as I remembered it, so I figured those things cancelled each other out. Besides, it's not like I had anything else to perform that fit the bill, so I just went with myself (thank you for that timeless advice, Fiona Apple.)

I worked on Naruto, which made my kids think I was cool for about five minutes (which is nearly a day in teenager time.)

If you count Macross, Robotech, and Battle of the Planets, I've been watching Anime since I was a little kid. If you're more of a purist, I've been watching since I got Akira on a fifth-generation VHS bootleg at a con when I was 14. (Funny-but-true story: my friends and I watched that tape over and over again, but since the original Japanese dialog wasn't subtitled, we had no idea what the story was. We built one of our own that we thought was pretty good, but turns out was completely wrong.)

I'm not super hardcore or anything, but I enjoy anime and manga, and I was awfully excited every time I got to do all the traditional anime sounds, like the various gasps, and the occasionally-awkward translations and bits of dialog we had to add to match the mouth movements (which were originally animated to go with Japanese. Mostly, though, I felt the tremendous satisfaction that comes with bringing a character to life and making him my own.

When I recorded my lines, Seth MacFarlane directed me. My scene was with Peter Griffin, and I am as proud of myself as I've ever been that I didn't lose my shit when Seth read me into my first line in Peter's voice. I also told him that I'm still laughing about Surfin' Bird, and nearly convinced him that members of The Trashmen were all deadbeat dads to the same former groupie, so the increased sales on iTunes was finally feeding her numerous bastard children. (This was way, way funnier than it seems now. Making outrageous shit up like that and committing to it completely is one of my favorite ways to amuse myself.)

I know, right?

I reaffirmed my commitment to a DRM-free life. I had a lot of fun with Twitter in 2008, mostly because the @replies are like the biggest game of "Yes, and …" in the history of the universe.

This is something I tell actors all the time: you have to find ways to enjoy auditions, and as hard as it is, as counter intuitive as it is, you just can't make success or failure about booking the job. You have to make success or failure about enjoying yourself. You've got to enjoy the process of creating the character, preparing the audition, and then giving the people on the other side of the desk whatever your take on the character is. You absolutely can not go in there and try to give them what you think they want. The way you stand out, and the way you enjoy it whether you are hired or not, is to take the material, prepare it, and find some way to make it your own. Even if you don't book the job (and the ratio of auditions to jobs is something like 20:1 for successful actors) you've been creative. Casting people will recognize that, and even if you're not right for this particular job, they are more likely to bring you in for other parts, because they've already seen you take a creative risk.

I didn't get the gig that inspired that post, which I think it kind of perfect.

My roof poured water into my house, but I found a way to feel good about it.

As you can imagine, I was very unhappy when I saw water pouring down my living room wall this morning, but we made a call to the roof guy, and he told Anne that there's nothing we can do until it dries up.

After talking to him she told me, "He'll come out tomorrow, but as far as today goes, freaking out about it won't accomplish anything."

I was already on my way to a serious category five freakout, but she was right. I needed to figure out a way to pull out of the spiral of anger and frustration, especially since I'm writing a column today on how you can deal with holiday stress and actually enjoy the season. I commented on Twitter that I was enjoying the cognitive dissonance.

I don't like wallowing in pity or other negative emotions, so I gave myself a task for the day: focus only on the things that make me happy. I picked out the very first thing that came to mind: Sleigh Ride was playing on Soma's Christmas Lounge. Ever since I was a little kid, that was the song for Christmas. It's so upbeat and evokes such wonderful images of happiness and joy, it never fails to put a smile on my face.

Project Procrastinate Under Deadline required me to share this moment with Twitter, and in so doing, I remembered something someone said to me many, many years ago. I forget the precise wording, but the suggestion was to take a moment every day to identify three different things that I was happy or grateful for. The exercise is awesome, because the first thing is always very easy to list, but it's a challenge to just pick two more things.

I've been playing Dungeons & Dragons for 2d12 years. I remember when magic-users couldn't wear armor, when edged weapons didn't hurt skeletons, and even when an elf was a class. I have more polyhedral dice than [SOMETHING NORMAL PEOPLE HAVE A LOT OF]. I routinely tell my wife and friends that I have to "save vs. shiny" when I go to my friendly local game shop, and I didn't realize that graph paper existed for a purpose other than making dungeons until I'd been in high school geometry for a semester...and even then, I remained skeptical.

If you'd told me six months ago that I'd be sitting here today writing about how much I love D&D Fourth Edition, I would have laughed in your face and called you a silly person. It is almost certain that I would have taunted you a second time, called your parentage into question, farted in your general direction, and observed that you were best suited for a career in empty animal food trough wiping.

Since we got the news yesterday, a lot of people have asked me if I can tell a story as a way to remember her. I've dug around in the attic of my mind for hours, and the best I can do is: We always had fun when we were working on Next Generation, but when Majel was on the set, it was a party.

Neither of the kids would help me, and I kept getting the Truly Obnoxious Curse, so I was having a hard time gaining levels. As a result, I was stuck at level 3 forever while they were sitting around level 7. I decided that my goal in the game would be to mess with them as much as possible, and forget trying to gain levels on my own.

Nolan was to my right. He kicked in a door and didn't find a monster, so he looked for trouble, playing a level 3 something from his hand. "Does anyone want to mess with me?" He asked, avoiding looking in my direction.

"It's funny you should ask," I said. "That's an illusion. You're actually fighting a level 18 Squidzilla." I played the appropriate cards.

"Oh, okay." Nolan pulled a card from his hand. "It's now enraged, so it gets an additional treasure." He pulled another card from his hand. "And with this Polymorph Potion, it turns into a parrot and flies away." He paused dramatically. "And I take five treasures."

"OHHH!" Ryan and Michael said.

"Man, that's a really great move," I said. "Too bad I'm playing Annihilation on it."

He was forced to discard the potion, and face the Enraged Squidzilla on his own.

"OHHH!" Ryan and Michael said."

"Okay, then." Nolan said. "I guess I'm running away."

We all laughed. Nolan rolled a one. He stopped laughing. We looted his body. There was much rejoicing. (Well, there was 3/4 rejoicing.)

I didn't accomplish most of the things I wanted to accomplish in 2008, but it was still a really great year where the awesome stuff vastly outweighed the not-awesome stuff. I have some very big plans for 2009, but I'm not saying anything about them until they complete the journey from "plans" to "awesome things," lest they end up as incomplete as my hopes to publish a book of fiction this year.

As I end this look back at 2008, I need to take a moment to acknowledge how lucky and grateful I am for the success I've had, and I want to thank you for continuing to be part of this journey with me. I will continue to work hard to earn your support and make the time we spend together worthwhile.

The day was a blur of friendly faces, signing autographs and books, shaking hands, posing for pictures, mutual geeking at scientists (there were lots of scientists there, mostly astronomers, who listened patiently to me while I slimed them with my slobbering geekiness) and my constant excitement and wonder that so many people knew about my books and wanted to pick them up.

This went on for a few hours. Then, during a lull in the day around lunchtime, Walter [Koenig] walked over to my end of the table after posing for a picture with some fans and looked at my books.

"I hear you're a writer now," he said, looking at Happiest Days, "What do you write?"

I told him.

"What's this one about?"

I told him, then I showed him the Manga.

"Check it out," I said, opening it to one page, "I totally blew up Leonard!"

He grinned, and I pointed to Dancing Barefoot.

"There's a story in here about the first time I met Bill, and what an ass he was to me," I said.

Walter laughed and said, "Who hasn't he been an ass to?"

I laughed with him. I suspect that if WFS had been there, he probably would have laughed with us . . . before ordering us off the bridge.

"If you're interested, and if you think you'd have time to read it," I said, "I'd love for you to have a copy of Happiest Days."

Walter smiled at me, surprised. "Really?"

"It would mean a lot to me," I said.

"I'd like to buy it from you," he said.

We danced for a minute, me trying to give it to him, and him trying to pay me for it. It was an exquisite tango, and I won't reveal the victor, because it's not that important. What is important to me, though, is that Walter has a copy of my book, which I hope he reads, because there's this story in it about conventions that I think he can appreciate on a different level than most readers.

[…]

A young girl, probably no older than 10 or 12, wanted to buy a copy of Happiest Days. I didn't think she'd like it as much as the Manga, so I asked her if she wanted to have that, instead.

"It's in the vendor's room down the hall," I said, "so let me send someone to go pick it up for you --"

"This isn't for me," she said, "this is for my stepdad. He'll really like it."

I almost started to cry. For the first time since I've been raising Ryan and Nolan, I've recently been made to feel the step in stepdad, and it hurts more than anything.

"I'm a stepdad," I said to her, taking a deep breath to steady myself, "and I think it's the greatest thing in the world that you want to do something kind for him."

I blinked back tears as I signed it.

"Here ya go," I said, "You're both very lucky."

I know I signed other books that night, but after that, nothing stands out.

While I was at this convention, I had a moment of clarity and grew a level:

"Just a few years ago," I said, "I rarely came to conventions as a guest, because I felt like I was trying to hold on to whatever fading celebrity I once had. I didn't do it because I wanted to be famous again. I did it because, at the time, it was all I could do, which was so much worse. But now, when I go to cons, I feel good about it. I look forward to it, because I feel like I can share the Star Trek thing with people who love it, but I'm really here as an indie publisher, just like you."

I thought for a second and added, "You know what it's like? It's like -- "

"Don't say 'rising from the ashes' while you're in Phoenix! Don't say 'rising from the ashes' while you're in Phoenix!" My brain screamed at me.

"It's sort of like rising from the ashes for me, in a way, which is a pretty lame thing to say since I'm in Phoenix."

"Do you even listen to me anymore? That's it," my brain said. "I'm out of here."

In February, I had sinus surgery to correct a massively deviated septum and scrape a whole bunch of polyps out of my skull. The recovery sucked and I couldn't write or do anything useful for weeks. I did get to watch a bunch of movies, though.

Of all the things I do that make me a geek, nothing brings me as much joy as gaming. It all started with the D&D Basic Set, and today it takes an entire room in my house to contain all of my books, boxes, and dice.

Thank you for giving us endless worlds to explore, Gary Gygax. Rest in peace.

I wrote a story for the third volume of the Star Trek manga. In volume two, I brought Star Trek to manga, and I worked very hard to bring manga to Star Trek in volume three. TokyoPop didn't promote the book at all, but we who worked on it did our best to get it to reviewers and support it with interviews.One of them said some very nice things about my story.

When we were about eight steps past the officious security guard, I reached up for my badge, which I'd pinned to my T-shirt's collar, so I could write my name on it.

It wasn't there.

I looked all around my jacket, checked all of my pockets several times, and had to accept that it had fallen off somewhere inside the con floor. Because I'd paid cash, I had no receipt. Because I hadn't written my name on it, yet, I had no way of proving that I'd lost anything.

I sheepishly revealed all of this to Matt and Ariana while I was whirling around like a dervish, patting my pockets and shaking out my jacket, looking like that guy down the hallway in Jacob's Ladder.

Friday night I said to Anne, "When I finish this martini, I'm going to think it's a great idea to have another martini. It will, in fact, be a very bad idea for me to have another martini, and I'd appreciate it if you'd remind me of that fact when the time comes."

When the time came, she wasn't at the table. Oops.

[…]

I wasn't nervous at all about my reading at Mysterious Galaxy, which was really weird. In fact, while we were driving there (Anne was driving, I was reading from my book because I got it into my head that it may be a good idea to try something new about 20 minutes before showtime) I said to Anne, "You know what's weird? I'm not nervous at all." It was at that very moment that I got nervous.

[…]

While I was signing books, a girl about my age walked up to the table. She extended her hand and said, "Hi, I'm Gina."

"Hi Gina," I said. "It's nice to meet you."

"I'm a blogger," she said.

"Oh? Cool!" I said. "What's your blog?"

"It's called 'Lifehacker,' and --"

It was at this point that I completely lost my shit and spent the next eleventy hundred minutes telling her how much I love Lifehacker.

[…]

Please enjoy this moment from lunch, which I sent to Twitter: Anne: It's Jedi day! Me: What? Anne: May the Fourth be with you. Me: OMG I am so sending that to Twitter.

Anne and I went to New York for our friends' wedding. I never finished my trip report, so let me sum up what happened after the events of part one, part two, and part three: We went to the Natural History museum, where I realized how I've just taken for granted that there are replicas of everything everywhere. Actually seeing priceless gems, complete dinosaur skeletons, and ancient weapons and clothing was more awe inspiring than I thought it would be. If you can get to a natural history museum, doo eet. The wedding was awesome, and Sean Bonner and I engaged in a little bit of mayhem, and live-blogged it via Twitter. The following night, Anne and I went to see Spamalot, which I loved, despite Clay Aiken who can barely sing and really can't act. We did a few other touristy things, but nothing worth mentioning. I love New York, and I hope I get to go back there in the future as often as I did when I was too young to appreciate it.

Very Memorable Moment of the con: I was talking to Ed Brubaker, who waited in my line to give me copies of Criminal. It's one of my favorite books in the world, and I asked him if he would sign it for me. Ed and I kind of know each other because Warren Ellis introduced us (I know, it feels like name dropping to me, too, but I swear it's how it happened) and Ed's given me a ton of reassurance and advice as a writer. I was attempting to thank him for casting Dispel Fear and Self-Doubt when I failed my save vs. insecurity just before I started my second Star Trek manga story, and this really angry guy in my line yells at him for talking to me for so long.

I think we'd be talking for about 5 minutes, which is about how long I spend with everyone who waits to talk to me at a convention, because that's just how I roll.

For those of you who don't know who Ed is, he writes (and killed) Captain America, and that's not even the coolest stuff he's done. Yelling at Ed Brubaker at a comic convention is like yelling at Wayne Gretzky at a hockey convention.

When Angry Yelling Guy got to the front of the line, he just wanted to talk to me about Star Trek. For five minutes.

I didn't mention it at the time, but Angry Yelling Guy didn't just talk to me about Star Trek, he bitched at me about everything he didn't like twenty years ago. Still, it's quite funny in retrospect.

…the grass on the foothills is golden, creating an inviting backdrop for splashes of color thrown across it by wild flowers. There was orange from poppies, yellow and green from wild mustard flowers, bright purple from lavender, and occasional bursts of bright green from grass that hadn't gotten the memo about dying off for summer. Around it all were gnarled oak trees, providing shade for grazing cattle and horses.

Once I got north of Soledad, towering Eucalyptus trees -- sixty feet tall, it seemed -- stood guard over vast green fields of lettuce and celery, as if the foothills had been somehow pushed back by farmers decades or even a century ago. Near Monterey, a heavy blanket of fog did its best to come inland, as coastal mountains held it back.

My story Blue Light Special from The Happiest Days of Our Lives was adapted into a comic.

I went to what will probably be my last concert, because I've finally had enough of the entitled assholes who ruin concerts:

For the next twenty minutes, this woman loudly complained about me to her equally drunk, equally idiotic friends. She kicked my chair. She clapped her hands next to my head. She screamed like a teenage girl in a Beatles concert film.

In other words, this stupid asshole made about a third of her concert experience -- seeing The Police! -- all about trying as hard as she could to ruin it for me, because I'd asked -- politely -- for her to just be considerate of the people around her.

I can close my eyes right now and see him standing just outside the set lights on stage six, gesturing excitedly at the bridge while our crew set up a shot. I can hear him tell me, "Good job, kid," after a particularly grueling day on Planet Hell.

Later that night, I noticed that he was sitting in the chair by our family iMac, but instead of playing games or talking to his friends on iChat, he had his head cocked to one side, Little Brother open in his lap. He'd made some serious progress in the book. I noticed that he had Firefox open to a Google search about [spoiler redacted].

I nudged Anne and pointed to Nolan.

"He's been reading that pretty much non-stop since you gave it to him," she said quietly.

"That rules," I said.

Over the next two days, I'd see him sitting on the couch, sitting in my favorite reading chair in our den, sitting in the chair by the iMac. He was always in the same pose, head cocked to one side, Little Brother open in his lap. We talked a little bit about the characters and the events in the book, and he asked me lots and lots of questions about the technology and real-life issues Cory presents in the book.

...as the first geek President, Barack Obama would do well to reward this important and influential constituency by creating a new cabinet post: the Secretary of Geek Affairs.

And it’s up to YOU (the collective you, that is) to make sure the right person gets the job. As such we present GEEK MADNESS: a 64-”team” elimination tournament decided by public voting as to which person (or persons), real or fictional, is best for the job.

It's as much fun to read as you'd think. The four regions have names we all recognize, like the Bombadil and Jor-El Regions, and there are some truly difficult geek match-ups, like Steve Jobs vs. The Cast of Revenge of the Nerds.

Somehow, I got added to this insanity, and I'm in the Jor-El region. Normally I don't care about this sort of thing, and never take it seriously, but I really like Paul and Storm and I'm totally into the spirit of Geek Madness. Vote early and vote often, my brothers and sisters, and we'll all celebrate when I get crushered in the second round, provided we can somehow get past Bruce Cambell in the first round. (I know, I know. If you can't vote for me in this circumstance, I totally understand; I had a hard time voting for me.)

I wasn't going to write an LA Daily this week, because the Internets seem to be turned off, but my editor told me that traffic is actually up at the Weekly, so I went ahead and wrote a story about playing Scrabble with Anne:

I drew an X. She drew an E. It was an unnecessary harbinger of things to come. She went first, and instantly took a twenty point lead. I scored seven, much better than usual. Four or five turns later, she played SEXY for a triple word score, and I never caught up. It was a blowout. I was Custer at Little Bighorn, Varro at Cannae, The Broncos at Superbowl XXIV.

With about twenty tiles remaining in the bag, I saw a chance to draw within 40 points. I had QIEEB after I'd played an ineffectual two letters for a humiliating three points. If I drew a T, N, or R, I could place the Q on a triple word score, build off the U in FUGUE, and make QUIET, QUEER, or QUEEN.

I drew the T and held my breath, for Murphy's Law of Scrabble is that, with 85 potential places to play, your opponent will always play in the one place that leaves you thoroughly fucked.

Mike (aka Gabe) says that playing D&D with me and Kurtz and Tycho inspired him to get a DMG and learn how to run a game. They did four comics about it that I absolutely love. (part one - part two - part three - part four) I also love that this comic has given rise to the term the Gabe Bag as in, "I knew it would be a long flight, so I put my DS into my Gabe Bag, but I started reading an ARC of BONESHAKER before take off, and I never took anything else out."

Mike couldn't have chosen a better time to start DMing. The Fourth Edition Dungeon Master's Guide is the book I've wanted to read since 1983: instead of just being a collection of magic items and a few passing references to the joys of reading boxed text, it actually teaches the reader how to be a DM. It explains – among several other things – how to figure out what your players want and give it to them, how to create encounters on the fly, how to scale encounters and award XP, and how to bring the game to life off the table, so everyone truly feels like they're in a town called Winterhaven and maybe it's not such a good idea to try to bluff that Ranger in the alley after all. The Fourth Edition DMG takes every single thing that makes DMing intimidating and scary, and casts dispel fear on it. Whether you're planning to run a 4e campaign, a T20 campaign, a GURPS campaign or a World of Darkness campaign, it's the one book that all hopeful DMs should have, and I think that even experienced DMs will find it a useful and enjoyable read.

If you've ever rolled a D20, stayed up all night mapping out Zelda on the NES or just happen to have heard of Wil Wheaton…buy The Happiest Days of Our Lives audiobook, it's more than worth it.

Listening to the book was an almost eerie experience. At times I felt like some of Wil's stories were lifted directly from my own childhood, only with the names and locations changed. I think this is what makes this book so charming…that despite the fact that, like me, you may have grown up a decade and a few thousand miles away from the author…you instantly feel have a lot in common through sheer geek-cameraderie.

I remember standing in a toy store, determined not to leave without a Star Wars action figure like in 'Blue Light Special'. I remember being 'taught' by little-Hitler teachers who were far more interested in petty, selfish power-trips than actual teaching like in 'The Butterfly Tree'…and sadly, the loss of a beloved family pet almost exactly like "Let go – A requiem for Felix the Bear."

In fact, to me, that's almost exactly what this book is. A memoir of the experiences that 'growing up geek' brings. The discovery that the things you love deny you entry into the mainstream social circles, the feeling that you have to constantly defend your choice of hobbies, and the joy when you find someone else who feels the same way. After listening to the whole thing, I almost can't help but think of Wil's childhood recollections as 'Geek-Seed Moments'...those formative childhood experiences that steer you down the road towards geekhood.

Geek-Seed Moments is a phrase that I like a lot. I'm working on a new introduction for the Subterranean Press edition of the book, speaking specifically to people who aren't already familiar with me and my work, and don't know what they're getting into. I keep coming back to various ways of saying that it's about geek nostalgia with some of the stuff I love thrown in, but the words keep coming out all weird. Maybe "Geek-Seed Moments" will help me put them together into something more satisfying.

We celebrate a non-religious, minimally-commercial version of Xmas here in Wheatonland, and the 2008 installment is awesome.

Whatever you choose to celebrate this time of year, I hope it's filled with all the stuff you like, none of the stuff you don't like, and that you're surrounded by people you love, because that's how I'm doing it, and it rules.

Today is my friend Andrew's birthday. I know Andrew because he read my blog a million years ago (in internet time) and saw that I was a fan of various Steve Jackson games. At the time, Andrew worked at SJGames on some projects you may have heard of, like Chez Geek, Munchkin, GURPS 4th Edition, and several others. Andrew e-mailed me and offered to take a look at what was then the first draft of Dancing Barefoot, and we've been working together ever since. Andrew has played a significant part in everything good I've ever written, including my 2007 PAX keynote, my story Cura Te Ipsum in the second Star Trek Manga, and, of course, The Happiest Days of Our Lives.

In the acknowledgments to The Happiest Days of Our Lives, I wrote:

I couldn’t have done this without the tireless assistance, guidance, and magnificent red pen of my editor and friend, Andrew Hackard. I’ve worked with several different editors in my brief life as a full-time writer. Until I started working with Andrew, I didn’t understand why some authors would follow certain editors to the ends of the Earth to keep working with them. I also want to thank Andrew’s parents, Jim and Sandra Hackard, for creating him, making him the person he is today, and for being so supportive of our work together.

I treasure Andrew's friendship, and I wouldn't be half the writer I am without his Red Pen of Doom. I've lost track of the number of times I've called or e-mailed Andrew in a complete panic, because I just can't find the end of something, or I've been working on something so long I've gotten too close to it and can't figure out why it doesn't feel right. Every time, Andrew talks me off the ledge and makes my writing better. I'd love it if everyone who reads my blog took a moment to join me in wishing him a happy birthday.

Ryan and Nolan don't carry my DNA, but they are my sons in every way that matters. Every day, it seems, I see more and more of myself in them, and it's been the greatest reward in the world to see them reflect my values at the most unexpected moments. Last night, their friend Michael came over, and we stayed up until almost 2 playing Munchkin. As I told Twitter, This is the most munchkiny (and silly and fun) game of Munchkin I've ever played. I had to call @RedPenOf Doom for a ruling.

For those who are unfamiliar: RedPenOfDoom is my friend and editor Andrew, who worked on Munchkin. This wasn't the first time he's gotten a late-night call from me, looking for a ruling on one thing or another.

The term "Munchkin" refers to those annoying players who min-max their characters, argue about the rules, and generally make RPGs a whole lot of not fun. The game Munchkin parodies all of those things with hilarious results. I've joked that it's essentially powergaming without all the pesky roleplaying.

I'm going to speak in geek to people who have played Munchkin: Neither of the kids would help me, and I kept getting the Truly Obnoxious Curse, so I was having a hard time gaining levels. As a result, I was stuck at level 3 forever while they were sitting around level 7. I decided that my goal in the game would be to mess with them as much as possible, and forget trying to gain levels on my own.

Nolan was to my right. He kicked in a door and didn't find a monster, so he looked for trouble, playing a level 3 something from his hand. "Does anyone want to mess with me?" He asked, avoiding looking in my direction.

"It's funny you should ask," I said. "That's an illusion. You're actually fighting a level 18 Squidzilla." I played the appropriate cards.

"Oh, okay." Nolan pulled a card from his hand. "It's now enraged, so it gets an additional treasure." He pulled another card from his hand. "And with this Polymorph Potion, it turns into a parrot and flies away." He paused dramatically. "And I take five treasures."

"OHHH!" Ryan and Michael said.

"Man, that's a really great move," I said. "Too bad I'm playing Annihilation on it."

He was forced to discard the potion, and face the Enraged Squidzilla on his own.

"OHHH!" Ryan and Michael said."

"Okay, then." Nolan said. "I guess I'm running away."

We all laughed. Nolan rolled a one. He stopped laughing. We looted his body. There was much rejoicing. (Well, there was 3/4 rejoicing.)

Ryan played the most Munchkinly game he could, at one point even arguing that running away and escaping were two different things, and that he could escape from a wandering monster, but go back to fight the original monster. This is why I had to call Andrew, by the way. He ruled in my favor ("that's a load, Ryan," I believe was my argument) but Ryan still won both games we played, gaining his final level by fighting level 2 monsters that Nolan, Michael, and I couldn't pump up.

We played for a couple of hours, and more than once I was afraid we'd wake up Anne and get The Wrath. I think we all laughed hardest when I played a curse on Ryan that forced him to discard his Spiked Codpiece, and pointed out that it was a small item.

I've never been a hypercompetitive dick, whether I'm gaming with my friends or gaming with my family. Trying to enjoy sports with my kids when they were little was really hard, because we were forced to deal with various hypercompetitive dicks who totally ruined the entire experience for all of us, and I've always felt like the kids and I missed out on what should have been a fun experience. It makes me so, so, so, so happy that instead of embracing the notion that winning is the only thing that matters, they grew up with my values, and see any game as an excuse to get together with people they like (or, in this case, love) to spend some time enjoying each other's company.

Munchkin is a game that can not be taken seriously. If the players do take it seriously, it won't be any fun. The whole point of the game is to see how badly you can mess with each other, and occasionally you end up ganging up on one player for several rounds. It's not a game for kids who are overly-sensitive or hypercompetitive, and it makes me so proud that my boys are able to enjoy it with me.

As promised yesterday, you can buy the audio version of The Happiest Days of Our Lives right here, for just $19.72. "Why $19.72?" You ask? Because that's the year I was born, and since nobody else is the boss of me, I can do that sort of thing. "How long is it?" You say? "That's what she said!" I reply. Then I tell you that it's about three and a-half hours long, and we laugh and laugh before the episode ends with a hilarious freeze frame.

Unlike the audio version of Just A Geek, the audio performance of The Happiest Days of Our Lives will only be available as a download. We found that the costs associated with creating and shipping physical media for JAG:tA vastly outweighed the benefits, and most people just rip the CDs to their favorite digital format, anyway.

Now, I'm sure most of you reading this don't need to hear it, but I'm a dad, and that means I often say things at great length that don't need to be said, so I'd appreciate it if you pretended to listen. I've made it really clear that I despise DRM and think it's stupid, and I will never willingly infect something you buy from me with DRM. In accordance with my philosophy, there is no DRM or restriction of any kind on this audiobook. I don't think I'll lose any sales of The Happiest Days audiobook to piracy, because people who would steal from me aren't people who wouldn't buy it, anyway, but I need to say this. If you're considering trying to steal it in some way, there's very little I can do to stop you – it's a game of whack-a-mole that I don't have the time or resources to play – but I hope you'll consider that when you steal from me, you're not sticking it to a giant company with millions of dollars in annual revenue. When you steal from me, you're directly hurting my family, because this is how I support the four of us (and our dogs, who say that they love you no matter what, because they're dogs and that's what they do.)

UPDATED: Everything you ever wanted to know about the audio version of The Happiest Days of Our Lives but were afraid to ask can be found right here.

The audio version of The Happiest Days of Our Lives will go on sale at noon Pacific tomorrow! I will post all the exciting details, as well as a picture of me dressed up as Darth Vader, at that time. Oh, I will also have a link that you can use to buy it, which I guess is kind of important.

Like the audio version of Just A Geek, this is a super-annotated version, filled with tons of what I call "audio footnotes" for lack of a less stupid-sounding term. I hope we've created something that's more like sitting down in a room with me while I tell you stories, than it is a typical audio book. I don't think a traditional publisher would let me get away with doing it this way, which is a big reason I do these things on my own. If you've ever heard me perform my work at a show, or listened to any of my podcasts, you should have some idea of what you're getting into.

Unlike the audio version of Just A Geek, the audio performance of The Happiest Days of Our Lives will only be available as a download. We found that the costs associated with creating and shipping physical media for JAG:tA vastly outweighed the benefits, and most people just rip the CDs to their favorite digital format, anyway.

I don't make enough to have a marketing budget, and I don't have a big publishing company behind me get the word out in the traditional media, so I'm counting on those of you who read my blog to help (there's at least 100K of you, if I can read stats correctly, and boy am I going to be embarrassed and sad if I can't). I made a media kit for Happiest Days that you can download at Monolith Press and use however you see fit, so if you think my work is worthy, I'd be super grateful for your help.

The audio version of The Happiest Days of Our Lives is about three and-a-half hours long, and will cost just $19.72. "Why $19.72?" you ask? Because that's the year I was born, and because nobody else is the boss of me, I can do that sort of thing.

Some knew her as the original Number One, some knew her as Lwaxana Troi, and everyone knew her as the ship's computer, but I just knew her as Majel, my friend Rod's mom, who always treated me like he and I were brothers.

Since we got the news yesterday, a lot of people have asked me if I can tell a story as a way to remember her. I've dug around in the attic of my mind for hours, and the best I can do is: We always had fun when we were working on Next Generation, but when Majel was on the set, it was a party.